Beeting Myself Up

          Last week, I made homemade smoothies for the kids when they came in from playing in the snow. We were a little low on frozen fruit, but I used the rest of the frozen strawberries and part of a bag of frozen cherries. I like to sweeten things naturally, so I keep 100% fruit juice concentrate in a jar (in the refrigerator) to use for smoothies, sweetenen yogurt, or have some gelatin with (oh, my aching joints). I poured in a good amount to help give the kids a vitamin boost and reduce the amount of sweetener that I'd need to make the smoothie more palatable. I store the juice in jars that my mom gave me filled with freezer jam (originally they contained various nut butters ). How resourceful of us to reuse glass jars, right? My mom grew up in a family of  nine, so no waste was allowed.  Her Amish large-family heritage still follows her today. She is still very frugal.
           I caught the drip of juice from the jar after pouring the juice into the blender. After sticking my finger in my mouth, I let out a yelp like you wouldn't believe and held the jar up to the light. Instead of the sweet tang of Cranberry Raspberry juice, I had gotten a suprising jolt of pickled beet juice. The color was almost a dead ringer for the juice. The night before, my mom had graciously put the left-overs from Christmas away. Instead of putting her yummy Amish red beets back into the jar she had canned them in, she had put them into one of the jars I reuse for concentrated fruit juice...and to make it even more confusing,  she put that jar right in front of the actual jar of fruit juice concentrate.
              Well, I decided to see if I could doctor the concoction to a state of edibility by adding actual juice, and honey. My mom and I added some cinnamon too. My oldest three had sample with spoons and declined it, but Gracie declared it good. My mom said it should be very healthy for us. "Vinegar is a digestant." I was very healthy that morning, along with my mom. After that, I proclaimed that all beet juice be forever housed on the top shelf of our refrigerator (three shelves removed from the fruit juice concentrate). We had a really good laugh about it, and then I made a smoothie for the rest of the girls with just frozen cherries.
             I still love to save money (my mommy's so proud), and a few years ago (after many, many requests from my hubby) I started cutting Charles' hair. I started paying attention to the haircuts my girls were getting and took that over as well. It should come as no surprise that Mr. Blue Eyes had a trim from me too. Our son was beginning to look a little Peter Boyle-ish; so this past weekend, my hubby held him; and I snipped a few wisps. The final straw came yesterday when I searched Youtube for a video to cut my own hair. Guess what? My hair came out lovely. (Here's the video in case your curious.) Do you realize how much money this saves us? My hubby averages one haircut every four-six weeks. Our girls get haircuts about once a season. This saves us more than $700 dollars a year if you figure out $20 a cut plus tip.
                 For the record, I will not continue to add "digestant" to our smoothies, but I am encouraged to continue making economical changes to our lifestyles. I have a lot to live up to if I want to emulate the ideal woman of the Bible (Proverbs 31 lays it all out...). I'll just content myself with asking God to work through me and not "beet" myself up about the rest.

The Spinmaster

           Remember the mother of nine that inspired me to run during pregnancy? Guess what she does when she's done running in her third trimester? She does spinning classes. I have not followed in her stead. I know about the awesome cardio workout you can get from riding your bike, but that's not what this post is about. Life can be hard, and it is easy to focus on the negative in a situation.  There are moments, days or, yes, in this case, even weeks that are full of despairing thoughts to fight. With God's help, you can spin your thoughts in a positive dirrection. That's the kind of spinning I'm talking about.

          I thought about naming this post "When It Rains, It Pours" because the last week and a half have felt a lot like one big storm in motherhood. Mr. Blue Eyes has brought in a new tooth during all this hoopla, evening out his adorable six-tooth grin. He had his first ear infection three weeks ago and started coughing just a few days after getting off antibiotics. His follow-up appointment for his ears (at the two week post-antibiotic mark) brought a few suprises. After five kids, I've never had a practioner tell me my baby's lungs sound congested. They've always assured me that it sounds bad, but it's really just an upper respiratory issue. That wasn't the case this time. What started as a routine appointment quickly escalated to deep suctioning (not the endo-trachial kind--they stopped at his mouth) and a nebulizer treatment.  Just for the record, I will not be consenting to another session of deep suctioning unless my child was really, really ill (like on the brink of hospitalization). At the beginning of the nebulizer treatment, the nurse told me  to "get ready for the screaming". Confused as to why, I asked if it hurt to which she replied,  "No, they just don't like it." Very reassuring. Very. During the screaming session, another nurse came in to inform me that he needed a chest x-ray. She wanted know where I wanted the order sent to. The heat in body raised at least two degrees at this point, and I felt my body transform into a big hairy mama bear.  I worked as an x-ray tech for over seven years, and I know a thing or two about x-rays (and children...and the increased risks of cancer later in life when they have an x-ray under the age of seven). I refused the exam, which they wanted to perform to see whether or not he had pneumonia. He had no fever. He was eating and acting normally. He only had a cough. I didn't think his situation required that much intervention.  I was so shaken by the time we left that I called my old pediatrician's office for a second opinion (of course, my shakiness may have been induced from all the Albuterol I inhaled while holding the mask onto my son's screaming face).  The office validated my concerns; and the next day, I discussed them with the nurse manager (after making sure it wouldn't be an issue to return the nebulizer they sold me...the second-hand one I had from my sister-in-law ended up working just fine). I've worked with enough doctors to know that there is a wide variety of acceptable treatments for the same issue. Some physicians are aggressive,  while others are more conservative.  Which one do I favor? I favor the one with enough experience to know what is called for. My old pediatrician had lots of experience to back his approach. This new practitioner was less experienced and too aggressive for me.
           This was just the tip of the iceberg with our fun...the thunderstorm was a brewin'. Mr. Blue Eyes threw up on me the next morning, which meant an impromptu shower. Half-pint, our nine year old, had such severe back pain that she couldn't get her jacket on to do chores without crying. Our schedule for the day quickly filled up. We saw a chiropractor in the morning (for Half-pint) that was 40 minutes north of us. Then, we traveled 40 minutes south for the baby's appointment with a different pediatrician at the same practice. Mr. Blue Eyes wasn't any worse at his appointment; so I was told we only needed to come back IF he ran a fever or was having problems breathing.  That night he threw up again and started running a fever. Ugh! We went back again for antibiotics because they diagnosed him with pneumonia, due to the fever (and how it started...all without needing a chest x-ray, the bear gave her seal of approval on that one). We only needed to return if the fever didn't  go away in two more days. He continued to toss his cookies once each night AND run a fever for three more days (yes, that meant another doctor's visit). His sister Carrie went sledding on day two of antibiotics and ran into a fence. She saw stars, got dizzy and had blurry vision. After getting the baby down for his nap, I held Carrie; and she complained that her head hurt. The next thing I knew, I was wearing her granola bar. She threw up all over me, herself, the couch,  and a misplaced comforter. (That prompted my second shower of the day...I felt really tired last week, but squeaky clean.) After a phone conversation with the doctor's office, we found out we didn't have to race to the emergency room unless she threw up again; but I would need to sleep in the same room as her for two days to observe her. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like sleeping in a double bed between a thrashing three-year-old and five-year-old. Fortunately,  I was too tired from all the late night fiasco's (i.e. "puke clean-up") to care.
           Then, Mr. Blue Eyes began to get diarrhea from the antibiotics, which caused a huge diaper rash. I switched to cotton balls with water for cleaning him (along with some air-drying and lots of diaper rash cream) The following day, I found myself in the doctor's office getting peed on by our son while trying to "fan the fannie".  (This was office visit #4, due to his extended fever.) The doctor walked in on me cleaning the floor and let out an empathic groan when she saw my wet jeans. It was a little cold on the drive home. After that I made sure to use a diaper as a pee deflector, when I let him stand and air dry. On the way to the doctor's office, I also added a crease to the side of the van. Chalk it all up to some fishtailin' on a snow-covered road and less than expert driving. It wasn't my best day, and it ended with a bang...literally.  I bought some peppermint stick ice cream, which goes perfectly with coffee. However, when I went to make the second round of hot water for my French press, I turned the wrong burner on our stove...one occupied by. 9 x 13 pyrex container. Miraculously, my hubby saw the Pyrex pan heating up and turned off the burner,  just before it exploded. I believe it was God appointed that he saw it at the moment he did. Three of our children were on the floor in front of the stove. His body must've blocked the shards of glass because no one had so much as a scratch on them although there were pieces of glass everywhere.
            Did we survive this all? Yes. Do we have some funny (and not so funny) memories from it? Of course. Through it all, I kept thinking,  "This could be worse. You could be at the hospital.  You could have five children sick, instead of one or two. You could've totalled the van. Someone could've gotten cut (or worse, blinded) from that glass." The day our appointment at the doctor's office got out of hand, a friend I deeply admire (Jill Savage) was undergoing a lumpectomy after a diagnosis of breast cancer just a few weeks beforehand. As the reminders chimed on my phone, reminding me to offer up a prayer for her, I thought ,"Thank God, I'm not dealing with this."  I wasn't alone in any of this either storm either. My hubby raced home to help transport little Miss Concussion if needed and rearranged his schedule to help me. My mom was helping me this past week too. My sister-in-law helped with my kids during doctor appointments and errand running. My small group instantly offered prayers when I messaged them about the drama concerning the concussion and my crazy office visits. Most of all, God was there with me each step of the way with wisdom, comfort and strength to get through this. All you have to do is cry out to Him, and then intentionally dwell on His blessings.
            Despite all the showers of negative things that happened in the last week and a half (that prompted one very used bathroom), there were even more things to be thankful for. It's easy to take our health and safety for granted until we see how easily it could all change. This holiday season has helped me spend time thanking God for all we do have, even as Gracie has now succumbed to a sickness and is running a fever. She is the only sick one right now, and I'm so thankful that no vomit is involved. My mom remained healthy through her visit and kept our house from being overrun by the dust bunnies. 

          Psalm 34:1-9 holds my thoughts to dwell on right now. It is how I will spin my wheels. It says," I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul shall make its boast in the Lord; the humble shall hear of it and be glad. Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together. I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. They looked to Him and were radiant, and their faces were not ashamed. This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him, And saved him out of all his troubles. The angel[a] of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him, and delivers them. Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him! Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints! There is no want to those who fear Him." 

         On Christmas day, our cat, Sierra, came home after not seeing her for eleven days. I never thought I'd see her again. My hubby deep fried a turkey for Christmas,  and apparently her hatred for the kittens wasn't deep enough to dissuade her from checking for some scraps. She was found sniffing the cooling peanut oil. We took turns loving on her, and she relished the new cat digs my hubby had set up (complete with a heating lamp, fuzzy cat bed, and heated water bowl). She is even allowing one of the kittens on the bed with her after a few days of hissing at them. Maybe she's been listening to me when I've said, "It could be worse. You could be sharing your bed with a dog." It's all in how you spin it.

Having Chickens Has Made Me a Better Parent

           Some of you reading the title of this post might be thinking, "Yeah, right!?". However,  I had this epiphany earlier this week, and I just had to share it in case you are on the fence about getting chickens? Watch my strong logic on this one (I've been taking notes from the "Mind Bender" books that Mary has been reading).
           Earlier this week, Carrie knocked over a just-opened box of Raisin Bran onto the floor. I felt the heat a-risin' in my blood, and I heard my voice crescendo into a "Caaaaa-rie...". Then, the thought smacked me in the face, "the chickens are going to love all this fiber". I stopped mid-rant and realized that I no longer had to lecture or feel guilty over wasted food. Now that we have chickens, all our food scraps are recycled into delicious eggs. (Harley, our dog, would love to help, but his tummy is a bit dicey.) The chicken's scavenging ways stopped me dead in my yelling tracks.
         Not only have the chickens helped me yell less, they have also been invaluable teaching tools. They've helped answer many questions like, "Where do eggs come from?", "How do chickens bathe?", or "Who will rule the barnyard: a 90lb. dog, four cunning cats, five pecking hens, or two mallard ducks?"  My personal favorite question they have answered is "What will teach our children a strong work ethic?" The chickens have shown my girls the need for persistent care. It may be single digits outside,  but they need fresh water maintaned, eggs gathered,  and fresh bedding laid down. The hens don't sleep in or forget what their job is (although I do give the girls one morning off-everyone deserves a Sabbath).  The hens are teaching them endurance (with a few choice words from me about getting to work). Another parenting goal is closer to completion.
            My final point regarding my parental improvement is the nutritional value of our eggs. One article from the Harvard Medical School (seems like a repudible source) states, " Eggs are a good source of nutrients. One egg contains 6 grams of protein and some healthful unsaturated fats. Eggs are also a good source of choline, which has been linked with preserving memory, and lutein and zeaxanthin, which may protect against vision loss." Look at me protecting my children's memory and vision. (Of course, this could backfire someday if they remember all my scolding when they are making decisions on my nursing home residence. Also, this might be an issue if their vision is so good that they see my giant dust bunnies and turn me into the health department.) Look at the other info listed about choline (from the "Incredible Egg" website): Egg yolks are an excellent source of choline, an essential nutrient that contributes to fetal brain development and helps prevent birth defects. Two eggs provide about 250 milligrams of choline, or roughly half of the recommended daily intake for pregnant and breastfeeding women. Who wouldn't want eggs (unless, of course, you are allergic to them)?

I rest my case. Charles and Half-pint may have given us chickens, but they have been the gift that keeps on giving. Maybe they'd make a lovely Christmas present for the person who has everything...
        

Breaking the Ice for "Neiiigh"bors

          Eventually,  Eagle's owner declined our offer to take on their horse and took him home.his last week,  we had the pleasure of meeting a couple more of our neighbors due to the escape of a couple of animals: Harley and Eagle. Harley d enjoyed the freedom of our front yard and much of the backyard till he decided to take a stroll onto the side road and into our neighbor's yard. They detained him in a fenced area till we could bring him home. If I hadn't been so frustrated with him at the time, I would've probably laughed. He danced back and forth just out of their reach. Harley will not let himself be touched by a strang.we found this out a couple of years ago when he pursued a cat onto a major highway but evaded any would-be rescuers. After introductions with our neighbor, Harley was put in doggy time out and has since been confined to a generous chain-link fenced area behind our house. He still looks with longing at the ducks and chicken area that he used to run free in. He's still in the doghouse as far as I'm concerned though.
          The second animal capture of the week was a little bigger deal as it involved a larger animal: a horse. When we first moved in, two horses lived in our east pasture area. The owners were busy preparing a permanent space on their land for them, and we patiently waited. After all, the owners just live across the road and two houses down. We wanted to be neighborly. Eventually as it became cold, Charles asked them to kindly collect their animals. Keeping drinkable water for our current pets is more than enough of a challenge for us right now. The horses were collected just before Thanksgiving. Last week,  their horse, Eagle, escaped. Its comrade Ray is in horse rehab, and he must've decided to look for him back at the old stomping grounds. A different neighbor brought him off the road to our fenced in area, concerned that he might get hurt and was unsure if we were keeping the horse for the owner or not. Charles contacted the owner; and after a couple of days of waiting,  we began toying with the idea of keeping him. Clearly the current owner is rather busy, or else the horse would've been collected sooner. Later, we found out he was busy constructing a lean-to. The idea of having a horse had begun to grow on me, as we went out several times a day to break the ice that had formed in the Rubbermaid bin (that held his water temporarily). I've learned that I get attached to animals very easily,  so I never really talked to our guest until we considered keeping him. I know very little about horses; but since another neighbor has grown up caring for horses all her life, I spent some time chatting with her about what we had offered to take on. I found out just how much these neighbors had been watching me. The horse owning neighbor had even noticed the way Eagle and Ray had been eating the bale of hay that a friend had put into their enclosure for us. Being around her reminded me to pay close attention to my words. I have a brand new start here with new people, but just a few words can sour the whole thing. This morning's devotional from "Whispers of Hope" included this scripture: "The words of a whisperer or slanderer are like dainty morsels or words of sport [to some, but to others are like deadly wounds]; and they go down into the innermost parts of the body [or a victim's nature]." (Prov. 26:22-Amplified Version) I need to watch what I say...a LOT!

         Animals take a lot of care and attention; but if it weren't for the two escapees, I may have still been in the dark about our animal lovin' neighbors. Is this part of why God put them on our planet? Are animals the ultimate icebreaker? Eventually, Eagle's owner turned us down and collected their horse. I don't see a ranch anytime in our near future,  but I will continue to break the ice with our animal loving neighbors...maybe instead of Christmas cookies, I'll take over some homemade treats for their animals.

           How are you breaking the ice this holiday season?  Are you like me, in need of a little lip-guarding? Let me know and we can pray for each other, for boldness sprinkled with kindness.

Hunting (Hitting) Deer and Coming Out of Our Shell

           I've heard a lot about the "deer in the headliht" look over the years, but I experienced it firsthand last week.  On Thanksgiving Eve, I had just come over a hill when I saw a deer in the middle of the road.  I tried to slow down and yelled in my head for it to get out of the way. It made it a couple feet directly into my lane before turning and staring at me. I couldn't believe it just stood there and looked at me. It could have run back and forth accross the road at least a couple of times in the time it took me to come up to it. My last thought before I hit it was, "God help me!" I could just see the deer  bouncing onto our windshield and shattering my visibility, causing me to carene into the ditch beside us and flip the van. My thoughts get pretty elaborate. Instead, I hit the deer squarely,  watched it bounce forward into the ditch and try to scramble to its feet. I pulled off, put my hazards on, and was determined to see if the deer was seriously hurt. I saw the deer behind me sitting on the road and amazingly enough very little damage had been done to the van. There wasn't any blood, but what appeared to be excrement.  Poor thing! I scared the poop out of it. It quickly hobbled back into the woods. When I got back in the van, my neice (who had joined us for a sleepover) kept exclaiming that I had knocked one of its legs off. I got out again to search for its amputated limb, but there was nary a leg in sight. I was hoping that if the deer was hurt badly that Charles could come put it out of its misery, and we could have some deer meat to boot. I wouldn't want to waste a deer. Charles joked with me the next day about "hunting" for deer with the van.  When we went to my brother's for Thanksgiving,  we had a lot to be thankful for. We also laughed so much and so hard (mainly over an app called "Elf Yourself" that my neice used with our nine month old), that my abs hurt for two days.
          As I shared a little over a week ago,  I was praying for friends and to make some new ones. Well, God heard my prayers and brought me a whole week of blessings. I found out I won a book (by Beth Moore!) giveaway on one of my favorite blogs (Pruning Princesses). I had met the author when we both helped launch "No More Perfect Moms". The next day, I was so encouraged by another good friend's blog about the rough day she had (another favorite: By Prayer and Petition). Then on Sunday, I made a new friend who just moved to the area...and just started homeschooling (and has three children with ages around my three youngest). I've made several friends in the nursing room at our church. Does rocking and feeding bond you to other people besides your babies? I'm beginning to think it does.
          More sea monkeys are hatching, and the ducklings have been moved to our garage. The final egg failed to pip, but we are grateful for the nine that did hatch. The oldest are beginning to get poky feathers,  and hopefully in another month or so they can free range like the rest of our fowl.
          Charles helped hang a lot of things (like curtains) over the Thanksgiving break. We also rearranged some furniture,  causing one wall's imperfections to be exposed. As Charles was pointing out all the holes left in the wall from the previous owner, the girls chimed in the there was a "pip in the wall! Something is trying to break out!" It really did look like the duck eggs had. We all had a good chuckle over that; but I do think that our life is beginning to emerge here, although we might not be completely out of our shell yet.

Brotherly Love or Sibling Rivalry?

         We have a new animal on our farm. The sea monkeys have finally made their appearance albeit a couple of weeks later than we had anticipated.  Forgive the picture. It was the best I could do since we were unwilling to buy the harmless food for them that colors them red (guess we aren't serious about sea monkeys yet, as the ad claims the food is "only for serious sea monkey lovers") The sea monkeys were discovered by accident. I was quietly waiting for the right moment to encourage Half-pint to dump the water. Mary and Half-pint have been sleeping in this past week instead of getting up promptly for school (one morning by as much as an hour). They are assigned extra chores if they aren't ready on time, and this past weekend they also had extra lessons and schoolwork (one downside, for them, to have their mom as their teacher...hehe). One good thing came of their chores, besides a cleaner house. Mary was removing the dust bunnies upstairs when she noticed a sea monkey swimming in the water. So far there are just two, but I have to admit they are much cuter than I thought. They have tiny feathery legs that undulate slowly while they dive from the surface to the floor of their tank. They seem to be getting along well, which brings me to the next tidbit of news.
           We attempted to introduce one of the week old ducklings to one of the newest hatchlings within a few hours of hatching. It promptly bit the newest ducklings tail feathers (which is just what the mommy did). Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Later in the week, we decided to try again. We needed to vacate the smaller pen for the last duckling due this week. This time the older ducklings and the newest ones got along like old buddies, grooming and snuggling each other. It's so cute to watch them sleep together.  The four babies like to cluster around one older duckling named Rusty (Half-pint named the duck Rusty "because it's the cutest"?) Rusty seems the most tollerant of their preening and space intrusion.
            Well, our farm population is growing, and there are now pine chips everywhere despite daily vacuuming.  It's totally worth it though to see the girls (and baby boy) watch and learn about the ducklings. It is funny how a little thing like animals can bring unity to siblings. They can all sit and watch the animals together in perfect harmony, until somebody "steals" someone else's spot to view the animals. It is a great opportunity to share and learn to take turns.

           This holiday season, I'm grateful for the peace and harmony in our home and the life we share together.  What are you grateful for?

Missouri Loves Company

           This weekend,  I watched as many people near our last town were devastated by a tornado.  I sat, prayed, and checked Facebook. It was all out of my hands, and I was too far away to do anything but pray. No direct friends of ours lost their home. I loved all the posts from my friends and their offers of help. I cannot imagine the misery they must be tempted to sit in. The stories from those affected are sad but hopeful.  I know their holidays will be much different than they expected.  Most of them are grateful this Thanksgiving for the greatest gift they have received: life.
         Monday night, I was reminded again of all the wonderful people we left behind. Charles had most of the little ones in our bedroom watching "Different Strokes". They used to watch this show once a week while I went to a small group). There they all were watching a familiar program, and my heart longed for the comraderie of my dear friends that we have left. It brought on a torrent of emotions as the realization hit me that all the people I used to see weekly (or even monthly) were hundreds of miles a way. What did I do? What any woman in my situation would do! I swept the floor.
           I swept and swept until the floors were all cleaned upstairs, and then I vacuumed the basement (lots of ducklings=trails of woodchips). Some people shop for therapy. I clean. As I cleaned, I prayed quietly for the friends I was missing and asked God to bring new ones into my life. Then, I sat down and watched part of a movie with my Gracie, my youngest girl.
          As I put the girls to bed, I still felt lonesome; but God hears every prayer and the next few hours were filled with excitement and wonder as my oldest two girls and I stayed up to watch the next batch of ducklings hatch. At first we were just hanging out with the week-old ducklings. All but one waddled onto Half-pint to take a nap. We laughed as they would preen Half-pint's fuzzy jammies and her long brown hair. Then, we heard some loud peeping as the newest batch started breaking free in the incubator. We laughed and talked like old friends as we named the new batch of ducks "Lola", "Agnes", "Oliver", and "Peter". I know how silly that is since we won't know their gender for a while.
          I believe God gave me open eyes that night to see two precious friends that He had left right in front of me: my daughters. If we had still lived in our old town, I doubt I would've stayed up. I was often too preoccupied to take time to hang out. Having fewer friends and less groups to attend is giving me time to focus on what matters more...family. I'm grateful this holiday season for my opportunity to get to know them better.
           We had almost two weeks with the Grandmas, and it was wonderful. I've had repeated requests to go back and visit our last area, but I need to put it off till the ducklings and baby boy has gotten a little older (to tolerate long trips better). Carrie, my 5 year old, is already dreaming up a visit back to our old town for her birthday in March to visit a favorite friend. We'll see what happens. We'd love to have more visitors here in Missouri, but I'm so thankful for Facebook to help me stay in touch. Missouri loves company, but we will take the memories and the mail (whether electronic or postal )we get with gratitude. 
            I miss you all and I'm praying for you all!

To read more bloggers talking about their less than perfect holidays,  click here.

Mommy Dearest

          We have five ducklings in Half-pint's bedroom and more should hatch this next Sunday. It's getting colder out, and we are still a good six weeks from fully feathered ducks. This brings us to our plan: 

1. Introduce the mommy duck to the babies

 2. Mommy will fall in love with the fluffy things and feel like keeping them warm. 

3. We move the babies to the duck condo outside,  while Mommy explains to Daddy that they're parents now.

4. Daddy duck will protect the little ones from the evil pecking hens.

5. We continue to add to their brood as the babies hatch.

Sounds good, doesn't it? We tried putting our dog kennel in the basement to introduce the Mommy to her babies, but she shivered in fear (couldn't have been from the temp because it was roasting in there). We let her observe them for little while before trying to put a couple in with her. She promptly nipped the little ones in the butt and the ducklings ran to Half-pint. There was no preening or happy looks. She was just instantly aggressive.  The Daddy did a very loud happy dance when the Mrs. was returned to the sweet honeymoon condo sans ducklings.  It was worth a try, but it looks like we will need to keep the heating lamps on for a while longer.

         Also, our hundreds of sea monkeys have not hatched at all. Note that there is a slight sense of relief when I type those words. I think it may have been the cooler temps that caused the hatch to fail. However, they might make an excellent summer birthday present if Half-pint wants to try again.

           Our farmlife count has gone up, but the division remains. It looks like Half-pint , not Paddles the duck, will be mommy dearest.

Does God Make Mistakes?

             Monday morning,  I made way into the doctor's office for an appointment for two of our children,  only to see my sister-in-law standing at the counter checking out. I couldn't have planned this even if I tried. She had planned to put together a meal for our family that day; she just wasn't sure how to get it to us. Carrie and Grace happily skipped off with her to play (while she made a meal for us), and we completed our doctor appointment, as well as shopping at Wal-mart. It was awesome how it worked out. The timing of it all right after the weekend with a sick baby was lovely. I felt like we had been touched by an angel.
                  You'd think after something that special that I'd be thrilled for the rest of the week, but I soon met more challenges. There were unanswered prayers rattling around in my brain that had me feeling disappointed. I was thinking things like, " God, I don't understand this." "God did you mess up? " It's funny that my reading for the day lead me to Luke 23. That's a chapter all about Jesus' crucifixion.  When I read about the women preparing the spices for His dead body, I felt their sorrow. The last verse stopped me in my tracks. It says, "Then they went back and made ready spices and ointments (perfumes). On the Sabbath day thy rested in accordance with the commandment." (This is the Amplified Version) These poor women had just witnessed the death of who they thought was the Messiah, and they couldn't even finish their work because it was approaching the Sabbath.  They were bound to follow the law that Christ had just fulfilled, but they didn't know He had fulfilled it...yet. They didn't know that this was their last Sabbath that would ever be celebrated in this manner,  but it was. They thought it was all over, but it was just beginning.  I could almost hear them wondering if God had made a mistake or if they had made a mistake thinking Jesus was the Christ.
          Life and death is seriously a mystery that only God understands. I was not a planned pregnancy.  Does that make me a mistake? My son was not a planned pregnancy either. Does that make him a mistake?  I was only ten when my dad became sick with cancer and died three years later. How is that fair or right?  19 years ago today, something happened to me that I believed was a mistake and hid for a long time (Read about that here). Does God make mistakes?  NO!
           I'm thankful that I was born (and I believe, my mom is thankful too). I'm thankful for my son's birth even though I didn't plan him. There is not a day that goes by that he doesn't make me smile or feel grateful for his presence. I don't understand my dad's death or everything bad that has happened to me, but it has made me who I am today. I am thankful for that.
            You may be wondering what in the world God is thinking right now because you can't understand it. I want to encourage you to hold tight and trust Him. This may feel like death right now, but your resurrection might be just around the corner. 

As the Duck Waddles: Mr. Peeper's Precocial Premier

           They're supposed to incubate for 28 days,  but apparently I wasn't reading our "Barnyard in Your Backyard" book loud enough for them to know what they're "supposed" to do (they take after their mother who laid them but never sat on them despite us telling her what she was "supposed" to do too).  Three days ahead of schedule,  five ducklings have hatched from the first batch of seven incubated eggs.
          Our book instructed us to remove the eggs from the turner three days before their arrival to allow them to orient themselves before their debut; but when Charles and Half-Pint set up half the incubator minus the egg turner, they noticed that several of the eggs had pipped already. To "pip" means that they have already cracked a small hole in their shell with their egg tooth (which is a small raised protrusion on their beak that falls off shortly after they hatch). Ducklings emerge 24-48 hours after they pip. Charles and Half-pint set a block of wood in the incubator to prevent the hatchlings from getting tangled in the two trays of unready eggs we left in. Last night at 4:30, Mary caught one really cracking its shell. An hour later the first one was born and ten minutes later another popped out with hardly any struggle. Three more emerged by 10:30pm, but the biggest disappointment of the night was when one was unable to open the shell after pipping a circle of cracks around the blunt end. The book warned against helping,  but I was really tempted to ignore the book, after all the ducks ignored the book. They are supposed to go through the struggle or according to the book they won't have enough vigor to survive. One hasn't cracked at all, but we're hoping that it is just playing by the rules and arriving later.
              I've had my own struggles this weekend,  struggles of keeping up with a lot of laundry (due to vomit and explosions on the other end...what do you expect after 48 hours of just breastmilk?) Yesterday,  the baby kept down all the milk, and even some rice and a biteful of banana. Sucess! Thank you for your prayers!!
           Half-pint allowed me to name the final duckling, so I chose Mr (or Mrs.) Peepers. I love the little peeping sounds he makes. Its funny how after all the struggle, Mr. Peeper is born precocial. This means, that despite just being born, he can walk, preen, eat, and drink right away. I can tell you from lots of experience that human babies are far from precocial.
            I really missed being able to go to church this weekend due to a sick baby, but God is still whispering into my heart despite not being able to go. He is my hiding place; He protects me from trouble and surrounds me with songs of deliverance. (Ps. 32:6-7) I think He was delighted in our delight over His creation last night. Life sometimes seems like struggle after struggle, like pile after pile of laundry. However, my thought for the day is "what if after I break through this struggle, it's easy walking for a little bit?" There may still be difficulties ahead (like surviving a big drooly dog), but this struggle could help my health and increase my vigor. That gives something to peep about.

Fruit Flies, Don't Bother Me!

          We have been plagued with a host of fruit flies. This is not my first adventure with this either. A family of seven + loads of dishes + a few extra things to be done (like moving or illness or a small crisis over animals) = a small feast for fruit flies. Disgusting and annoying? Yes!! Harmful to our health? Not that I'm aware of!? Also, I've noticed that we love certain foods they love. They adore bananas, and so do I. Part of Mr. Blue Eye's food training has been thanks to a good supply of bananas.  He has gone from very finely mashed to lumpy, clumpy bananas in the past few months. This has opened him up to a wide variety of table food that at first was too textured for him to handle. (He finally has two teeth on the top...he could've played Dracula for Halloween if I was into that whole vampire thing.) The other surprising thing that they like is cups that have had tea in them. Yesterday,  when we tried to clean up their major food sources, they congregated in the bathrooms on the Softsoap and toothbrushes. I even discovered several of them mating on the cupboards. We caught at least 50 in homemade fruit fly traps, but it didn't even make a dent. (Is their mating getting out of hand or have they found a secret fruit fly door to re-enter the house?) This was all the more difficult since poor Mr. Blue Eyes has been throwing up. He has only been on clear fluids since Thursday evening when he first deposited, what felt like, his entire stomach contents all over both of us. At this point, we both appreciate a moment of prayer for him to feel better.
         Fruit flies make me think about the little irritating thoughts that come up in my everyday life that threaten to make my day bad even though nothing majorly bad happened. Take Thursday for example, when all I could think about is how I didn't have time to make fresh bread. I had to stop and consciously choose to think about what I had gotten done, like baking banana blueberry muffins and yogurt. I had cleaned up my sick sweet baby several times and spent time reading/singing "Truckery Rhymes" with my kindergartener. I also finally found homes for all our jackets (our bench is now free to be used the way we had intended: to sit and put shoes on). Despite all this, my tendency was to let that one negative fruit fly thought buzz around in my brain.
          At the moment I needed to add carrots to our soup last night, Mr. Blue Eyes had another incident (after a six hour hiatus) all over the floor which prompted yet another bath (and another clothes change for me...just when you think laundry is caught up, right?). This was right before I expected Charles home. I kept feeling badly that it would appear to Charles when he arrived that I hadn't done my job all day. The soup would be hot, the carrots crunchy, and the mom wary (waiting for the next heave). Fruit flies. Nothing life threatening had happened,  just pesky little thoughts were trying to derail my day.

            Focusing on truth acts like a giant fruit fly swatter to get rid of these annoyances. I am a huge fan of "Battlefield of the Mind" by Joyce Meyer because it was honestly the first time I actually realized I had a choice in what I thought about (Read Phil. 4:8, and you find that it is totally biblical). It takes a conscious effort to not get bogged down by the bad thoughts. Then and only then, can you say "Fruit flies, don't bother me!" or better yet, "Fruit flies don't bother me."

Incubation, Puking Princesses, and Sea Monkeys at Midnight

           Half-Pint bought an incubator about a month ago; and though our first batch of old eggs failed (and oozed and gave us grief-read that story here), our female mallard began to lay fresh eggs. We dutifully began daily collecting and storing them between 40º and 60º (after carefully reading up about it). You are supposed to only store them for up to seven days before beginning incubation, so two and a half weeks ago we put them in. After six days, we carefully held them up to an altered toilet paper roll with a flashlight shining through one end (called "candling") to find fine veins and a small gray shadow in all seven eggs.  Half-pint was grinning from ear to ear for the entire day. Mrs. Duck continued to lay eggs, so we continued to gather. There were only six eggs laid in the next week, and five of them proved to be fertile (showing veins and a shadow). Still we were very excited with our possibilities. She proceeded to lay one more egg that we are yet to candle. Now comes the tricky part. We have three batches of eggs at three different stages. The first batch has continued to grow (we candled them at 13 days with the second batch...they have a much bigger shadow and nice veins), and are due to hatch around Nov. 13th. However,  it is recommended to stop turning them for the last three days (so they can get their bearings), which means we need to remove the turner (apparantly the little buggers could get tripped up in that and croak). We could turn the next two batches of eggs by hand for three days, but half-pint teared up at that suggestion because humidity and temperature is critical. You aren't supposed to disturb the incubator lid even to add water (for humidity) during those three days. This leaves me wondering if we will turn Half-pint's entire room into a sauna for three days, try introducing Paddles and Puddles to half-pint's room to finish the laying process (in a dog kennel, mind you) or recruit Charlotte to come and keep the eggs warm (she LOVES laying on eggs). I'll keep you posted on "As The Duck Waddles". We had more ducky happenings this week thanks to Mr. Blue Eye's costume.
          Our new town brought new Halloween traditions. We attended a fabulous library party on the 21st. On Halloween, the children around here go trick-or-treating on Main Street at the businesses which stay open late (till seven according to the local newspapers). It was supposed to start at 5pm, and we arrived at 6pm. Apparently,  they didn't read the newspaper because by 6:30 when the children fizzled, the businesses shut their doors. I felt sorry for the kids that showed up at 6:45pm to find no one out (Carrie had to pee at that time, so we used the public toilet at the Chamber of Commerce who also had shut their doors early, but took pitty on my dancing turtle). This brings me to our costumes. I do not buy pre-made costumes anymore. I stopped two years back when Half-pint insisted on making her own pumpkin costume from Charles' orange T-shirt. I quickly got over the fact that it wasn't perfect (Would others feel sorry for my poor child without a mom to step in and make a costume worthy of Pinterest?)  and revelled in the uniqueness of it. Store-made costumes are usually more expensive,  and I've seen how creative my kids can be when I've helped them bring their dream to life. With that said, I've also lived through the years of very young children incapable of creating their own costumes...and I do NOT judge moms that need sleep more than a few dollars spent on a costume (and some who buy on clearance for the next year or at rummage sales).  This is just what works for us. Mr. Blue Eyes donned a beard (attached to his camo hat...12 in. of plush brown fabric thanks to Joanne's for $2.99) and full camo. He held his rubber ducky to chew on for a complete Duck Dynasty ensemble. Puddles and Paddles wanted to go along, but I said no. He met up with 3 other Duck Dynasty boys, and they graciosly posed for a picture with him. Gracie asked to be Rapunzel, for which I attached strand upon strand of yarn to a yellow headband. She went to the party at the library but began puking Halloween day. She stayed locked in her tower with Charles. However, Charles came up with the brilliant idea of letting her trick-or-treat at our bedroom doors from the candy we had gotten while out. She ended up with a full bucket, and my heart brimmed with pride at our girls' generosity. Carrie went as a snapping turtle; and although I cut out her shell, she decorated it by spending two days coloring it with markers. Half-pint went as a pirate, and created an elaborate ship complete with lego people walking the plank. The ship only went to the library party though. We feared it would've shipwrecked on the sidewalk. Mary decided to dress up as "Autumn" (the season) complete with a leaf boa, and braided bun for her cardinal's nest. It was so much fun to watch them design and create!
           This past week has seen a lot of late nights, like Halloween. One of them though was thanks to Half-pint's Awana store night. The kids are awarded Awana bucks for memorizing verses, and once a month, they can purchase fabulous prizes for their hard work. Half-pint purchased a complete sea monkey kit because, "what is a farm for except animals?". After our last mishap with the duck eggs, I stayed up till midnight to help research everything we needed to know about the sea creatures. It began when she insisted on distilled water, which she insisted was crucial and found somewhere on the internet information page she had looked at (even though I found nothing on the included packaging about it). I love learning,  but I prefer not to do it at midnight. Still, the little specks that they are (they are the size of a period) still are rather interesting though, and I look forward to seeing them grow. I will keep you posted on "All My Sea Monkeys", and I promise to even include a picture or two.
              It looks like there's going to be an explosion of life here on our prairie,  even though winter is fast approaching. It should make for an interesting season. Please feel free to share your thoughts or expertise on any of these topics. I'd love to read it.

Marshmallow Musings

          I am polishing off a bag of half-eaten marshmallows while reflecting back on this day (yes, unbeknownst to most people I cannot leave marshmallows sit in their bag...they call to me to rescue them). I am so full of gratitude. Moving from our last home was challenging. I was totally open to moving, but I was still suprised that we actually did move. It was like I was somehow waiting for God to step in and to stop us. It all felt rather surreal; and when we did move and close on our old house on that end and close on our new house on this end, I was a little perplexed.
            Today was my birthday; and although I have often had my mom around for it (since she only lived an hour and a half away from me), I cannot remember the last time I had my brother's family over as well. My brother's oldest daughter has a birthday on the same day. When my brother asked if I wanted to get together on our birthday,  my hubby came up with the idea of a having a bonfire up here and even putting hay in the cart our lawn tractor pulls for "hayrides". It was pretty awesome for me (plus my sister-in-law left half a bag of marshmallows to inspire my musings and temporarily bloat me...thanks, Sis!).
           I miss my old friends and old town, but I love being able to be apart of my extended family's life. This past week I was able to spend a couple of days with my neices and nephew while my brother and sister-in-law got to remember why they really like each other on a trip in Mexico. I loved hanging out with them and being an aunt again. I always felt like I barely got to see them when they visited.  I was too busy making meals or taking care of the baby to really get to know them. I've already seen my neice play in a couple of softball games and watched my nephew score two touchdowns in football. Today, when my youngest neice spent all of her money on a present for me, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude to get to know her sweetness firsthand. 
           This would've never been possible without my hubby's decision to move for this job or to move to this house (that he picked for us). Had we stayed in our old town, I would've never experienced a birthday like this. Had our septic system been ok and our original buyer bought our house, we would've moved to the first house we had our bid accepted on  (which would've been an hour away from my brother)...so my birthday still probably wouldn't have been this way. It's funny how God always makes my hubby's choices benefit me. God knew just how much He would be giving me when we moved.
          My mom wrote this verse from the Message translation on my birthday card today, and it seems so fitting: "God's angel sets up a circle of protection around us while we pray." (Psalm 34:7) I can't remember a day I haven't talked to God about this whole situation for the past few months. I can feel His protection and His provision.  I can feel the smile on His face as I am beginning to realize what a gift this is for me. I can't help but say thank you to Him for blessing me with a hubby to take me just where I need to be.

The Escape Artist

             We have one chicken who is a master escape artist. Her name is Sunny, and she goes rogue almost every afternoon. She brilliantly flies off or climbs through a fence hole (there are some perks to being the runt and smaller than everyone else) to free-range without her sisters. She eats first from our compost. Then, she tastes the choicest grass on the hilltop. The world is her oyster or buffet (however you want to look at it). She loses the safety of her flock; but since she is the bottom of the pecking order anyhow, she also frees herself of the heirachy and pain. 

          Sometimes, I wish I were Sunny. I just want to fly off and have my own space. I feel a pang of guilt in admitting that; but this past week, I realized that even Jesus got tired and took naps. I can't tell you how many times I've been exhorted to get up early before everyone else and spend time praying, just like Jesus did...and I'm not saying they're wrong. It is biblical, but I can't remember anyone preaching about how even Jesus took naps. It's in the Bible too (Luke 8:23). Remember the story about Him falling asleep in the boat and being woken up because of the disciple's fear over the storm. (Can you relate to people, albeit little people, waking you up because they're scared?)
          At one time, I questioned why anyone would seriously not feel like going back to their family after getting a break. I remember hearing a good friend express this to me, and wondering what was wrong with her. How could she even consider this? This was all before I had more than two children, so that might explain part of it.
          This past week has brought me many moments that are funny now, but I desperately wanted to escape from at the time. Half-Pint incubated some duck eggs that Puddles (our female mallard duck) is refusing to sit on. After a few hours, the porous eggs began to ooze their rotting contents. The smell that hit me when coming into the house was horrendous. I would suggest checking what your nine year old has researched on the internet concerning fertile eggs...yes, they should have shadows...but also veins...and only AFTER incubation, not before. We had to dump the eggs, but thankfully, Puddles has begun laying more fresh eggs. This meant cleaning the incubator. I carried the base (that was too heavy for Half-Pint) filled with some putrid water accross our carpet, never realizing there were some holes in the base until some of the nasty water spilled on my clothes and the carpet. It was enough to make me want to hide in room and take a nap, but that didn't work out so well for me this past Saturday either.
           I laid down to rest my eyes for half an hour. When I got up, I went down to the basement to start some laundry. My jaw dropped open in suprise at the concentrated laundry soap that covered a good 3 square foot area of tile. While I was resting, the container had been knocked over onto the floor and the lid that I had loosened so the detergent freely flowed out the other side came off. I began sopping up the soap with some dirty laundry while I wondered what the point of my nap was. I no longer felt rested.
            Then there is the awesome change of season which brought the sudden realization that Mary has one outfit for fall...and Half-Pint has zero warm shirts. We headed off to Kohls last Friday for a lesson on Economics and Art (creating and combining outfits for the tween crowd at our house should count for something,right?) We were only there for ten minutes when little Carrie declares that she has to pee NOW. I race to the nearest associate to find out where the bathroom is. As I'm shoving the stroller at break-neck speed (the amount of accidents I have cleaned up in the past month are beyond counting, and I don't want another one now), Carrie stops in front of the stroller to talk to me. I run into her causing her to complain about her ankle getting scraped, but I rush past her goading her on toward the bathroom. I'm convinced she is exaggerating the pain, but she promptly drops to the ground in agony, holds her breathe, passes out, and looses control of her bladder in front of the Vera Wang pajamas display. We proceed to the bathroom and problem solve how to get a five year old to the van where clean clothes (intended for my potty-training three year old are). Carrie refuses to put her wet clothes back on. I end up giving her my Blush as a makeshift skirt. We did exit the store again 3 hours later with a couple pants and tops for both girls. Mission accomplished. I won't even go into detail about the escapade of yet another accident on Tuesday this time at the park by Grace. She rode home in a diaper and jacket, since I hadn't remembered to replace the clothes for the accident bag.
        The reason for wanting to escape from my work isn't really so much about exhaustion or feeling underappreciated like I've heard many moms talk about. I think it might be because I don't really value the moment I'm in. I hate it when the unpredictable happens. I don't like my schedule being messed with. I love what Jill Savage says in "No More Perfect Moms" that "The moment we are in is just as important as the moment we planned." I need that as a daily reminder because my planning is constantly hijacked. My attitude can make the difference between it feeling like a vacation or prison (laundry anyone?).
          So for now, I will relish the fifteen minutes of holding my new eight week old kitten in the sunlight (Harley, the dog, has already been sternly told that they are not chew toys, and he no longer drools while staring at them). I will open my heart to the words I read in the Bible when the house is quiet in the morning. I will stop and smile when my day is derailed...and know that every moment is a gift and an opportunity for growth.

          

Making Lemonade

          This past weekend,  we welcomed a new member into our family. I now have another sister!! As excited as I am about my brother-in-law taking the plunge, I was so frustrated with Amtrak. What started out as a ten minute delay in boarding the train translated into a 2 1/2 late arrival at our final destination. I really, really wanted to be there to see my sister's grand entrance (not to mention my adorable Carrie and Grace, who were her flower girls). My hubby, who was a groomsman, had droven out the day before with all four girls. It was so nice to play and snuggle Mr. Blue Eyes on the train. At eight months old, he doesn't really enjoy or understand long car rides...so I'm extremely grateful that Charles agreed to let me take the train out.
          My mom had vacationed in Arizona last week, and took her return trip so that we met up in Missouri for the remainder of the trip. It was awesome to see my mom and chat for hours, literally. What a present! When we realized we'd be late, it was nice to discuss it with someone...and tell each other that getting upset would do no one any good. My mom had left her van and keys at a church for the week she was on vacation,  and the pastor had promised to have a member drive it to the station so it'd be waiting for us.  When we got off the trian, we both groaned to find the van missing. Thankfully,  a friend of her's was being picked up at the same train station by her son, and he happily ferried us to the church. This made us even later, but we made it to the ceremony in time to hear them exchange rings, kiss and walk down the aisle together.
          Although I wasn't there for the entire wedding ceremony, I got to stay for the entire reception. The wedding was beautiful,  and I loved the fall theme with green yellow, orange, and purple dresses accented by brown sashes. No one seemed to mind that I showed up late. Clearly, there was much more to talk about than my presence or absence. The next morning we all slept in, which rarely happens with a little one and pets that need tending. I actually felt a little rested when I woke up.
           When I checked my phone, I saw a message from my mom. She decided to pick up the unused keys that day and hang out with me while I waited a few hours for the train. I know that you are thinking,  why didn't you ride back with Charles? Well, I still don't relish long car trips with Blue Eyes. Also if he sleeps a lot during the day (which is what he did when we moved), he is up a bunch at night (which is what he did after our move...leaving me with a bad case of red eye, which is still better than pink eye). After months of spending the weekdays flying solo, an afternoon and evening with just one was something to savor. Anyhow,  it all made perfect sense at the time I booked the return ticket.
          So maybe you're thinking, why didn't she just ask for the keys to be mailed to her instead of driving thirty minutes to pick them up? She told me that she decided to make lemonade out of the lemons we had been served. The afternoon we spent shopping and giggling sure tasted sweet to me. She even brought pears and tomatoes from her home. What a treat! It has been a long time since I've been able to spend time with my mom without the distraction of kids. Maybe it was even sweeter because I live so much farther from her than I used to.
          At the end of the trip, I did feel a little tired from the late nights and early mornings; but my soul felt nourished from the companionship. It took me almost a day to feel grumpy about the mounds of laundry awaiting me; and even then , it was easier to correct my thoughts than the week before. Like a tall glass of lemonade, this past weekend refreshed my thirsty heart.

In the Morning

          In the morning,  there is a lot of activity in our house. The baby is babbling in his crib, waking up his siblings.  The dog is begging to be let out, usually only waking up me (the two older ones are able to sleep through it). If I go outside,  there are ducks quacking in their box, waiting to splash and play in their water. The hens are clucking,  waiting to taste the delicious fresh dew on the grass (always on the other side of the fence). The sounds and activity of the morning are soothing to me. It's like slipping on a soft, fur-lined, leather glove in the crisp autumn air...it's comfy. A friend told me that the top three stressful life events are 1) death of a loved one, 2) divorce, and 3) moving. This time around, I would have to agree. Our move last year didn't stress me out in the least bit. Our move this year has been a much different story. Of these three "stressors", I have personal experience with two. Watching another good friend deal with some custody issues, definitely helps me appreciate that moving is not nearly as stressful. There is the obvious thing they have in common: major change. However, they are all, in my mind, mournable as well. This past Friday, we closed on our house in Illinois.  Charles, my hubby, asked if I was relieved; and I am to an extent...but I wasn't thinking about that in that sense this past Friday.  I was in mourning.  I was sad about the loss of a house that had just started to feel like home. I had other dreams that were never realized there.
           In the mourning, I have slammed my hand down in anger, breaking my mascara wand (poor wand...what did it ever do to deserve such treatment). I hollered several times last week that I missed our old house, and I just about lost it when I still couldn't find our toilet plunger after two days of searching and finding a plugged stink bomb in the basement. Charles has been a safe place to confide my frustration,  and I'm really glad for that.  Crying and expressing my sadness really helps me process things and move on. We have both been frustrated with how challenging this has been to close on this house. We are still renting,  but a new bank is now promising to finance it (one that is cool with crazy people wanting a cozy house with lots of land). The relocation package offered by Charlle's work was sweet, but it still doesn't quite cover all this unforseen drama. Sometimes it feels a little like money poured down the drain. Last Friday (when I was tempted to dress in black and sit in the closet with a "do not disturb" sign posted), I read Mark 14 (I'm in the NT in the Amplified Version). It relates the story of the woman who "wastes" a years salary on pouring perfume on Jesus' feet. Jesus didn't see it as a waste, but as a beautiful offering. It struck me that nothing is wasted on God. I'm not Catholic,  but I really enjoyed a series of talks given on "suffering" last summer by a priest. He repeated over and over the thought of "offering up" our suffering so that it is not wasted. Last Friday,  I struggled,  but I gave up my disappointments and frustrations. I told God I didn't understand,  but that I chose to trust Him. I asked Him to accept this as an offering to Him.
              It's been a week. It's morning again; and instead of feeling waves of sorrow,  I'm feeling some waves of gratitude roll over me. It's been awesome to be around my brother and sister-in-law.  They've made me feel so welcome and already had the kids over for a couple of overnighters. They've helped us plug into an Awana club for the kids to go to and a church (we'll be getting out at least bi-weekly). Also, the people here have been very friendly and kind (except the sherrif department),  and I'm getting used to driving 30 minutes to just about everything.  I found Target this past week, and I was so grateful to find the store where I buy phthalate-free, paraben-free mascara in the same strip mall. The friendly clerk/consultant even introduced me to even better mascara for only a dollar more (it's free of mineral oil, triclosan, sodium lauryl sulfate and synthetic fragrances with a cute little bunny sign on it to denote it is also cruelty free...plus it's made in the USA).
      My mom gave me part of my name based on this verse she read on the day I was born, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps. 30:5) I think it's becoming a bit of a reoccurring theme verse for me.
       I don't know if you are suffering or stressed,  but know that nothing is wasted on God. Mourning is tough, but morning is coming.

Sloppy Joes

          I loved sloppy joes as a kid, and I still love them as an adult. My children loved them too until the third or fourth time I made them. I think it has to do with me making them on the stove instead of the crock pot and talking to the neighbor for a little too long. I served dry joes that night with a bit of burnt flavoring.
          Nothing has been more discouraging to me in this whole moving process than the sloppiness of several "Joes".  One "sloppy joe" mover neglected to put a cover on our baby's crib mattress or take the crib sheet off and now there is a permanent black mark on them (was that mark from the asphalt as it was drug along or the bike chain it it laid against in the moving trailer). They forgot to pack our dehumidifier,  Pump In Style (don't ask if you don't know what that is), and an old picture of my grandma, along with several other boxes. However, they made absolute sure to pack our half-used rolls of toilet paper and wet shower curtain (along with books that got a just bit soggy). Thankfully, a good friend went and rescued our stuff.
          We are still renting at a lovely rate per day due to the assessment on our property.  One bank termed it as a bit "sloppy", but the general consensus is that there aren't any other comps to use, and the mark-up's are too high for a conventional loan. Oh the drama!  I just want to own our home.
            Last night before going to bed, I was feeling angry about the whole thing. These things are out of my hubby's control,  as well as mine. What's done is done. Can I be honest that I was a little upset with God? I know nothing is out of His control. The chapter I read last night from Mark 11 gave me some insight into what to do in this situation. I need to let go and forgive. Starting in verse 23, it contains the infamous "telling the mountain to move" phrase.  What comes directly after that is what caught my attention.  It says, " I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours. But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
            Holding a grudge? Yup, I'm guilty as charged. I'm fed up with every obstacles we have been facing. It is exhausting and wearing. I think I have been given the opportunity to practice forgiveness. I need to do this not just because I might have my prayers heard again, but also because I am forgetting how much I have been forgiven by God.
            I know I'm not the only one with drama. Does anyone live in a drama-free
zone? Jen Hatmaker certainly doesn't. (This post made me laugh so hard that I couldn't breathe.) Nope. We are all daily struggling with something.  It's part of life.  Here's your chance to hold onto your happiness...forgive your "sloppy joes".

Sirens With Lights and Bumps in the Night

          Mazes made of corn are fun; however,  I'm not a big fan of the maze of boxes that we have now in practically every room in the house. I've already been down this road of unpacking last year, so I know that slowly but surely the boxes will disappear. I just can't obsess over them. It makes me short-tempered if I dwell on it, which isn't healthy for me or the kids. The first night we slept here, my hubby, Charles, asked if I could bring in the fan when I was done putting the kids to bed. I actually remembered, but he was sleeping soundly already.  I crept in the dark room groping for an outlet to plug the fan into; but the only one I could find was next to his bed with various items strewn on the floor, making it impossible to find a level area to set the fan on. I decided to leave the fan in the room out of the pathway in case he got up in the middle of the night.  I remembered a recessed area where the rocking chair sat between two towers of boxes. I carefully put the fan down, only to have the three-pronged cord flop out into the walkway. I could just picture him tripping over the cord or bruising his foot on the plug. That'd never do. I quickly bent over to pick the cord up out of the way, smacking my lip on the special handle of a stool (it's called a "cat's tail" because the handle resembles the tail of a cat held high in the air) my Amish Uncle made. As my lip began burning and swelling, I began hoping that I wouldn't have a bruise.  I hate explaining stupid stuff I do. That's not the only stupid thing I've done lately though.
           I now live in Missouri,  and the roads where we live are beautiful and hilly.  It is easy to go zooming along, and several times this past week I've had to intentionally slow down. My sweet sister-in-law had kept our three oldest children overnight after Awana, and I was headed to Walmart yesterday with just the younger two. I was entering the interstate when I heard sirens go off. I guessed it was an ambulance and checked my rearview mirror, only to see a sheriff car flashing its lights. I immediately pulled over but was puzzled to see that he pulled over as well. My heart started to race when I remembered that my sticker had expired at the end of July.  At the time, we had thought we were moving to Kansas on July 23. That was before our buyer backed out, and the deal fell through. I hoped the officer would understand my extenuating circumstances.  He calmly told me that he had clocked me going 51mph in a 35mph zone. I was truly suprised that I was speeding. The last time I had seen a speed limit sign, I thought it said 55mph. Unfortunately,  at that particular junction it was indeed 35mph (I went back and checked). He also asked me if I knew that my license sticker was expired.  I tried to quickly explain the situation, while expressing my dismay over not knowing I was breaking the law...as well as my intentions to get new plates...I had no clue where the nearest DMV even was.  He took my new address down after hearing that I had only lived here for 6 days, along with my license and insurance card. He came back with an address for the nearest DMV, and a citation for speeding. My pitiful side wanted to cry out, "Please, I didn't know! I'm new here." My sarcastic side wanted to cry out, "Well, welcome to Missouri! "  The practical side of me wanted to argue that I couldn't possibly afford this. However,  I was guilty; so I found myself quietly saying,  "Ok" when he told me that he had to write me a citation. I confess that the martyr in me insisted on driving slowly the remainder of the day until I could see a speed limit posted (and then I was quick to set my cruise control).
         Why is it that we are so self-centered when it comes to being disciplined?  We cry foul even when we have done wrong. How many times have I been speeding and not been caught?  It's funny, but even now I feel seeds of bitterness trying to take root. Thoughts like, "Well, the police here are jerks," or "It must be because I'm from Illinois" keep coming to mind...its not true though. The fact remains that I broke a law, and I got caught.  He could've ticketed me for my expired sticker, but he gave me mercy on that. I'm choosing to be grateful for the mercy I was shown.
         Tonight, Charles (I'm sticking with my "Little House on the Prairie" theme here) delighted me by fixing both the uber-slow water spigot on our refrigerator and the leaky cold water valve for the washing machine. He told me he could fix our house repairs,  but not my speeding ticket. As I smiled, my lip reminded me of the hit I had taken earlier in the week while my heart ached from the bruise I had taken to my pride.  I'm not above the law, like Steven Seagal. I'm just a gal who's grateful for a new home, with a hubby and kids who love me. My lip's still sore, and my pocketbook is soon to be lighter. Since my smile is still there minus a chip on my shoulder, mark it as just another interesting adventure for Caroline.
   

Little House on the Prarie

           Have you ever walked into a house and felt instantly at home? That was exactly how I felt when I saw our new house for the very first time this past Sunday. It isn't grandiose or majestic...bucolic and rustic come to mind instead. When I was first married, one of my hubby's friends described me as "simple", and it offended me at first. Now that I'm a little older, it doesn't bother me like it did. I now know it meant "uncomplicated", not "boring".  This house suits me perfectly.  It's even yellow, which I've always loved. Plus...wait for it...there is no tile in the showers! Hallelujah!!
           I described our last house as "The Promised Land", and it really had everything we could've ever hoped for.  I remember asking God why in the world He allowed us to simplify and get rid of so much stuff if we were going to move to a huge house. We never really did fill up our old house. Now, it all makes sense. Don't get me wrong,  I loved living there, but I believe I will love living here as well. Our old house feels more to me like one of those awesome vacation houses that you rent to make special memories in since we only lived there a year. We had lots of special things happen there (like the birth of our first son or polor bear event, where my hubby and the girls rolled on the icy pond after going in the sauna), but I never left my mark there. I never even had a chance to paint any walls a beautiful (some may say "obnoxious") shade of green.
          You should see the land that goes with this property.  It is beautiful and rolling with tall grasses and a seasonal stream and pond. Parts of the grass have been cut and huge rolls of hay dot our backyard. There is an enormous screened in porch off the back of the house with large knarled silver maple trees shading it. It is just lovely.
          I used to love the show "Little House on the Prarie", and my mom recently bought the entire set. The girls and I have enjoyed watching it with her when we see her. When she came down to celebrate her birthday, we commented about how our new home would be just like that. I guess that would make me Caroline and my hubby Charles. I'm curious to see if there are any nagging, superficial Mrs. Olsens around here. One of my mom's friends hit the nail on the head saying that we enjoy Mrs. Olsen so much because "we all have a little of her in us".
            We started reading the "Little House" books for school this year; and while debating whether or not to buy them, I saw that the author's daughter has some books about her called "The Rose Years". The author, Laura Ingalls Wilder moved to Missouri with her hubby. It seemed a little more than coincidental when I saw that. It was like God had us  introduce our girls to the "Little House" books and shows right before we moved out.
          Do you know when we first found this house? It was listed for the first time on our 16th anniversary. Sitting on the back porch listening to the cicadas humm and the chickens cluck, I can tell you that this definitely feels like a present.

A Teensy Weensy Problem Loading Noah Ark

            When I told one of my friends about all the animals we would be moving, she laughed and told me it reminded her of Noah's ark. There have been many times that I have thought about Mrs. Noah and wondered how she maintained her calm while discussing sharing living quarters with all those animals for a year. We had our 90 lb. Weimeraner, Harley, plus our two outside cats, Sierra and Oreo. They rode with me. Let's just call my vehicle the "quiet sweet-smelling vehicle". We also have five hens plus two Mallard ducks (so far she has laid twenty-two eggs in her clutch, and is yet to begin sitting on them). They rode with my hubby. When we stopped at the gas station for a pit-stop, the brief glimpse I had of his vehicle made me extremely grateful for my car load. All the quacking and clucking (combined with the smell) would've been enough to make me nauseous.  The hens dutifully layed three eggs in transit and pecked their hearts out on the towel in their cage. Last but not least in our "ark" are my daughter's two small-mouth salamanders, Teensy and Weensy.
             It was a good hour after we started our caravan on Friday that I received a phone call from my nature lovin' child. She informed me that her two beloved salamanders had been left behind.  I was a little shocked she forgot them. Nothing makes her smile more than holding her little Teensy and Weensy. I'm not a huge fan of anything without fur or feathers, but I know how much she adores them...so I even allow canned crickets in my refrigerator (double sealed in a ziploc bag, mind you). After a couple of phone calls, the gentleman driving our truckload of boxes offered to care for them and bring them along with the rest of our stuff.  What a relief it was for my daughter to have them back this morning!
           I can't tell you how much my dear mother-in-law helped us when she rode out with us and stayed for a couple of days. It was so nice to have her there to watch the kids in a pinch and help me with driving. She made the trip so much faster for me by chatting with me most of the way. I wondered if Mrs. Noah was similarly blessed by her woman companions on the ark.
          Our seller has agreed to lease to us till we can close next week, so the movers unpacked us today. I'm so glad to have that taken care of. I will tell you more about our house in the next post, but let's just say that I'm grinning from ear to ear. It's good to be home.

A Series Of Fortunate (and Unfortunate) Events

           What seemed rather simple in theory has turned out to be rather complicated. Every time we turn around there is a new challenge to navigate.
           Unfortunately,  our driveway proved to be too steep for the semi-truck to drive without scraping the bottom of the trailer. Fortunately,  our neighbor has a road bordering ours that they parked on. Fortunately,  they could also rent a u-haul to shuttle boxes back and forth.
            Unfortunately,  the paperwork wasn't finished for us to close on our house before driving to our new house. Fortunately,  a good friend was willing to watch over our house while the packers finish late last night (since the shuttling made the process take longer than anticipated).
             Unfortunately,  due to some assessment issues the bank still wasn't ready to close when we arrived last evening. Fortunately,  a friend of mine allowed us to keep our chickens and ducks at her place.
            Unfortunately,  the buyer wasn't willing to let us take possession by leasing the property till Monday. Fortunately,  my hubby already had a two bedroom furnished apartment that allow dogs and cats. We have somewhere to stay.
             A lot has been challenging; but fortunately,  we are all here together and (other than allergies) are healthy. None of the animals even got sick.

"We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed, we are persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed..." 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Appetite for Destruction

         Last week, I surprised my mom by showing up with the kids to a birthday party thrown by her co-worker celebrating her 70th birthday.  It was awesome to meet some of the people that she has impacted in the last 18 years of work at a support group for people who have had a loved one die.  It was also a wonderful break from the ordinary, but it was just long enough to forget about the partially burned peanut butter jar that Harley found at the top of the hill on our neighbor's burn pile. Harley, our dog, didn't forget. Food is always on his brain, especially when it's peanut butter. He must have somehow snuck up there after coming home on Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday,  I found out about his secret binge when his body began purging the blackened plastic all over our floral carpeting at the top of our stairs. He looked so pathetic as he continued to empty the charred contents of his stomach throughout the next 24 hours. He stared accusingly at me when I withheld his regular meals, so I lectured him all day about making good food choices,making it easier to resist his huge puppy dog eyes.  Eating garbage prevented him from eating his regular nourishing food, but it also caused him to be isolated from us. I love him, but when it comes to puking dogs, they are confined to tile areas with washable items only. I have too many children to spend hours on my hand and knees cleaning dog puke out of the carpet. I had enough fun the last time around to last a lifetime. (If you missed that post, here you go.) I also informed Harley that he chose this isolation by indulging his appetite. The vet mentioned that I needed to be sure he continued his bowel movements. His appetite could literally destroy him (or at least his internal organs). Why would he choose to eat trash?
          I have begun to say goodbye to the familiar.  Sunday was my last service in our home church, where they celebrated a finished balcony by holding a free Mandisa concert. What a treat! She is fabulous!! My daughter celebrated her final birthday with her best buddies yesterday,  and it is just a matter of days till we say goodbye to the town that has been our home for the past twelve years. As I began thinking about all the people we are leaving behind, I began to feel very weepy.
           If I wanted to, I could've thought about all the negative things; but it wouldn't really be any different than choosing to eat a burnt jar of peanut butter. It would make me feel sick and cause me to draw inward, isolating me from those I love.  I chose instead to take my sadness to God. He reminded me that we aren't guaranteed any length to our life. For all I know, I could be exiting earth tomorrow. Even if I never see all my good buddies again in this life, I will have all eternity to spend together with those that have trusted in Christ. (Although I am planning on returning for an occasional visit). I felt a smidge better after those thoughts, but I still told God how special they all are to me. It brought tears to my eyes to think about each friend and the important role they have played in my journey.  He told me that my friends here are wonderful, but I have no idea all the amazing people that He is going to introduce me to in Missouri. God is no stranger to sorrow,  and He knows how hard this is for all of us. I know He can handle my tears, but He can also lift my spirits with the truth of wholesome thoughts. This is what I'm choosing to dwell on, instead of eating the garbage.
          This is why I'm singing with all my heart the song that Mandisa led us in during her concert. It says, "At all times, I will bless the Lord." Thank you, Mandisa for that song; thank you, hubby, for surprising me with the CD; and most of all, thank you, God, for the feast of good thoughts!